| A slew of hoppers in the pond
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| But I’m like a super shopper mom
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| 'Cause once I’ve found my target, I don’t even think about (themall)
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| I’m used to hopping in my car
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| 'Cause where I shop is often far
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| Perhaps I choose my target so I don’t stay drinking at the bar
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| There’s something about the drive that blinds the iris blues
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| A store fit to patronize provides me my excuse
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| A morbid and glamorized disguise of self abuse
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| When I arrive they’re always closed
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| It’s no surprise, it’s something I’d already known
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| But still, I pull the doors my hardest, cause I can’t stand camping out alone
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| I’ll be sunny once you open up
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| Until then I’ll hold my dough
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| 'Cause what I need must be inside
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| Or maybe I myself provide
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| What I seek from Target, and maybe all I have to do is try
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| There’s something about the drive that blinds the iris blues
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| A store fit to patronize provides me my excuse
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| A morbid and glamorized disguise of self abuse |